


Tucked, Cucked, and Totally Fucked

by zungeonsandzaddies



Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, Jodie Foster (derogatory), Jodie Foster is a frat boy turned cop, M/M, Misogyny, Pre-Relationship, comedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 22:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30096051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zungeonsandzaddies/pseuds/zungeonsandzaddies
Summary: A typical weekend at your local public state university's fraternity house.
Relationships: Jodie Foster (Dungeons and Daddies)/Glenn Close (Dungeons and Daddies), Jodie Foster (Dungeons and Daddies)/Morgan Freeman (Dungeons and Daddies)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8
Collections: Good Cop Bad Cop





	Tucked, Cucked, and Totally Fucked

**Author's Note:**

> Basically crack. Jodie's a complete misogynistic dick. I will *not* have us stanning Jodie Foster on *my* not a BDSM podcast, I want Nick back goddammit!
> 
> Please, this is just for fun I just need to balance out all the endearing Jodie we've seen here on ao3 recently

“Jodie, your shirt, it’s untucked!”

Jodie swings around, beer sloshing out of his red solo cup and all over Darryl Wilson’s nice brown leather jacket. 

“What?!”

“Oh, man! You heard me, you— Dammit, you got that all over my jacket!”

Jodie looks down at his beer and frowns. It definitely used to have more liquid in it. Shame. He may as well drink the rest of it before that disappears on him too. Jodie chugs the beer with ease. He’s sloshed enough at this point that the dark brew may as well be apple juice. 

Beside him, Darryl has procured a handful of paper towels scrunched up in his fist and is rubbing at his jacket. Jodie says a silent prayer for the leather—he knows from experience that the stickiness will never fully go away. 

“Real shame about that jacket, Darryl,” Jodie says solemnly, leaning into his friend as he puts a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. “Y’should be more careful with your drinks.”

Darryl yells something at him, but Jodie’s already sauntering away toward the kegs for a refill.

As he leans over to empty some beer into his cup, a tall, lanky figure appears next to him. Jodie looks up to see Darryl’s new friend standing over him. 

“Heyyy, Harry! There you are!” Jodie says, standing back up. He goes in to hug the man—no homo though, just a bro hug with a nice strong pat on the back for extra masculinity—but before he can, his cup of beer is whisked out of his hand.

“Hey! I was gonna drink that!” He exclaims. 

“Jodie, I think you may have had enough to drink for tonight,” Harry—or maybe it was Harvey?—says, Jodie’s drink held in his steady hand. 

“C’mon, bro. I just poured that, ‘n you’re not drinking tonight.”

“I know, but I’d really prefer if you didn’t throw up in my car on the drive home, so… Aw geez, Jodie, look at you. You’re a mess!” 

Jodie looks down at himself, and all of a sudden realizes how sweaty he feels. He’s used to sweat, since he’s been playing Ultimate Frisbee his whole life, but he doesn’t usually look this disheveled on top of it all. His sweat has long since soaked through his undershirt and is seeping through his pale blue button-up. 

“Oh alright, here, let me help you with that—” Henley reaches toward Jodie’s waist, and before the latter can object, starts tucking his shirt back into his salmon-colored Vineyard Vines shorts. 

Jodie eventually regains his footing enough to wave Hector off of him, but not before his shirt has been successfully French-tucked by the hippie. 

Annoyed, Jodie turns away from Herman in a huff, but first takes back what is rightfully his (the red solo cup full of beer), much to the other man’s exasperation. “Where’s my woman? Morgan! Morgan?!” Jodie yells into the crowd at the fraternity house, stumbling back toward the dance floor. 

He’s pushing through people, paying no mind to the objections and stepped-on toes along his way, when he finally spots his girlfriend of three months—the longest Jodie’s ever been in a relationship—Morgan Freeman, dancing. 

Dancing all up on another man. 

Jodie pushes toward them with renewed fervor. He reaches them and his red solo cup pops in his hand as his grip tightens and bends the plastic. _Guess I’m seeing two leather jackets get ruined in one night,_ Jodie thinks as he chucks the entirety of his beer at the man behind his girlfriend.

“What the _fuck_ , dude!” The man exclaims, backing away from Morgan immediately. Just as Jodie intended. 

“Jodie! Jesus Christ, you didn’t have to do that!” Morgan cries out. She pushes Jodie away even as he tries to loop his arm around her waist. “We were just dancing!”

“Just dancing! You won’t even dance with _me,_ Morgan!” Jodie whines, though he makes sure his voice is nice and deep so it’s more commanding than whiney. “Who the fuck is this guy?”

As Jodie asks that, he turns back toward the guy in question— _who is now taking his black leather jacket off in one sweeping motion, leaving him in nothing but a white tank top that has also been soaked through with beer oh no—_

“I’m Glenn. Who the _fuck_ are you?”

“I’m Morgan’s boyfriend, you dickhead!” Dickhead. Jodie hasn’t used that strong a name in a while. Something about this ~~handsome~~ ugly prick is really getting to him. 

Glenn just laughs. Loudly. It’s a terrible, bright, joyous, beautiful sound that emanates from his chest. “Her boyfriend, huh? Morgan, you can do so much better than this beefcake.”

Glenn seems a little annoyed with himself for calling Jodie a beefcake, and Jodie smiles triumphantly. 

“Jodie, I’m not gonna cheat on you with some guy I met at a frat party, okay? Relax,” Morgan says with that frustrated tone that always makes Jodie just want to push her against a wall and shut her up with a kiss. He just wants to— Wait, shit, what was she saying?

“Yeah, okay, babe,” Jodie responds on instinct. That usually works on females. 

Morgan just rolls her eyes and stomps away in her combat boots, muttering something under her breath about ‘men are idiots’ and ‘hate’ and ‘being bisexual’ wait, bisexual? That means they could have a threesome—

But Jodie can’t even finish that thought before Glenn’s grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pinning him against a wall. 

“You ruined my favorite fucking jacket, man,” Glenn growls, and Jodie’s throat goes dry. 

“I,” he starts, and coughs a bit to clear his throat, “I had to do it! You were stealing my girl!”

“I wasn’t stealing anybody’s girl, dude, she can dance with whoever the fuck she wants. That woman _cannot_ be contained.” Jodie doesn’t like the softer look that comes over Glenn’s face when he says that, and he uses the opportunity (and some drunken adrenaline) to flip them so he has Glenn pinned to the wall instead. 

Jodie holds his forearm up against Glenn’s ~~hard, strong~~ chest, like he’s been learning in police training, and tries not to think about how close their faces have to be for him to say, in the quiet, threatening voice he wants to use:

“She’s dating me, not some washed-up, sexy motherfucker like you.”

Glenn’s eyebrows rise up on his forehead, and then a smug grin splits across his face. Why the _fuck_ is he grinning like that? Jodie is _threatening_ him, goddammit.

“So you admit I’m a sexy motherfucker, hm?” Glenn says, his tongue peeking out between his teeth, which are startlingly white in the blacklight of the frat house party. 

_Shit._

Had Jodie really said that? 

“She only likes you because you’re the tall, dark, and handsome type,” Jodie spits back.

“Oh, you’re only making this worse for yourself, man,” Glenn chuckles, the rumbles of which vibrate through his chest into Jodie’s arm. 

“Shut up!” Jodie exclaims, further frustrated by the fact that he can’t think of any better comebacks. Fucking alcohol. 

Glenn pushes him back, and Jodie stumbles, trying to stay on his feet. He succeeds, but barely. 

“I only came here because my roommate wanted to know what a frat party was like. I’m too fucking cool for this scene,” Glenn says. He shakes his wet jacket off one final time before slinging it back over his shoulder in a move that Jodie finds far too attractive for a man to have done it. 

“Ron!” Glenn calls to a short dude on the dance floor, “C’mon, man, let’s hit it!”

The man in question turns around and practically skips toward Glenn. “Hi Glenn! Uh, what are we hitting?” 

Glenn just loops his arm through Ron’s and turns toward the stairs up from the frat house basement. 

“Cuck ya later, _Jodie_ ,” Glenn sneers on his way out, leaving Jodie nearly foaming at the mouth at the base of the stairs. 

Jodie’s fists clench at his sides, and if he darts straight to the bathroom and jerks himself off as soon as Glenn is out of his sight, that’s just because he’s thinking about the threesome he’s going to have with Morgan and some other female. 

God, he’s totally fucked.


End file.
